He’s photocopying now. He’s travelled across the office to photocopy one shitty sheet of paper. He was probably copying a printout of an email from his wife:

Dear Bob,
Why are you still at work? I had your tea ready hours ago. I made your favourite of liver and onions.
Your wife,
Barbara.

PS. The dog has worms again.

He’s probably going to file it in ‘wife correspondence’.

GO HOME!
GO HOME!
GO HOME!